


The Prince Consort, Part VI/VI

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [23]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: "Everything is eventual." - Stephen King.Conclusion to The Prince Consort arc.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Conclusion to The Prince Consort arc._

He arrived at Blake’s alone, having refused Elliot’s offer to bring him. This time he’d wanted no distractions on the ride over, especially not Elliot unnerving him. He needed to arrive as calm as possible.

So far, so good.

Entering the lobby, it was to a few quiet “Hi, Holden”s, all to which he made brief eye contact but didn’t reply. Craig met him at the entrance to the main room and quietly informed him that he’d earlier explained to Sean what the place was. He nodded, not asking whether the other thing he was worried about was also happening, because of course it was. 

He glanced toward the leather-bound doors, and unlike at Ten, here not wanting anyone to see him hesitate, he simply walked in.

Blake’s was fashioned like an old-time, gay underground speakeasy. Upscale, suits and ties required, every etiquette enforced. It was nothing like Ten which was designed for couples on a night out. And, while it was a networking space, it was also unlike Cavanaugh in that connections needn’t stay purely verbal. Or end with an exchange of cards. If he had to capture the place in words, he’d say it was, perfectly, the place to be. All desires were in play. And no night was a miss.

The large room inside was set up like an open parlor, its decor in imitation of an old English men’s club. Glowing lamps, green silk wallpapers, leather armchairs around tables always neatly laid out for drinks and small eats. Like you were home and expecting friends. Petey ultimately despised the style, dubbing it “pretentious whorehouse.” But even Petey never skipped a night out at Blake’s.

Tonight proved no exception. Walking in, he saw every table occupied and men making out at most of them. In couples, in threesomes, even foursomes. Hands not securing drinks were out of sight under the table. Conversation and moaning alike came at low decibels, with heat from the goings-on soaring the room to high temperatures. Most of the men not lip-locked, getting handjobs, or passionately licking throats were turned and staring openly toward one side of the room. Some were doing all of the above. Without a single glance in any direction, he slowly made his way to their table.

He’d requested a corner booth. Private and closed off. Instead theirs was a blood red leather booth facing the room. The table laid out with flickering candles, rolled up linen napkins, tall silvery glasses, and cream colored single stem roses. A booth at which Sean was seated and staring into the room with a frozen, not that hard to read expression. 

For him, anyway. To the room, Sean likely looked severely unapproachable, hostile. But he could also see the freaked out undertones, the way Sean was taking in all of the room as if he was doubting his own mind.

In a pure black evening suit and tie, and a snow white shirt, his spiky hair and beard shining under the lights, Sean looked blindingly stunning. But Sean didn’t even shift his gaze from the room as he approached. Just remained seated slightly forward, hands loosely clasped between his knees, body as still and stiff as he’d ever seen him.It was only when he was right at the table that Sean glanced up at him. 

They locked eyes and he quickly looked away. Looked instead at the two men seated in chairs on either side of Sean, the bar’s owners, Tim and Yellen.

Both men stood up with thrilled smiles at him. Smiles he somehow found the means to return. Even though, seeing them did always make him happy. Both men were in their fifties, married for a decade and together since in their twenties, like so many gay and lesbian couples at the time, having hopped the first flight to Holland the moment same sex marriage was legalized there. They’d since become the adoptive fathers of eight children. They’d teased and watched over him for years, while happily providing what they referred to as a service to LA’s gay male community. Both were a big part of why on any given night, Blake’s was among his favorite places to be.

As they released him from their joint hug, the first thing he noticed was Sean glancing at his right hand. On which did sit his engagement ring. But in his current, suspended state, Sean appeared incapable of even standing up to kiss him hello. He hoped to heaven that Craig had been typically blunt to both men about the kind of topics they weren’t to raise with Sean. Or that they were noticing for themselves. As Tim made room for him to enter the booth and sit next to Sean, he caught Tim’s eyes. Tim gave him an encouraging smile, beaming like a benevolent father.

Sitting down, he pressed right up against Sean and this time deliberately sat back. And when Sean’s arm didn’t immediately go along the back of the booth, instead remaining wedged between them, he turned to him, looking at his arm.

“Why is your arm in the way?”

Tim and Yellen, seats reclaimed, were both smiling.

Sean turned to him with a grave look. Sean seemed to be searching for words. Like he was concentrating just to even recognize his face.

It wasn’t a comforting look.

He looked straight into Sean’s eyes, mentally beaming everything in his heart. That he loved him, he would always love him, had always loved him.

“I thought you liked my arm,” Sean slowly said.

“Yeah, but not down here. I think you know where it belongs.”

Sean held his eyes. He didn’t blink. Slowly, Sean lifted his arm and slid it along the back of the hard leather, bringing his hand forward and draping it over his shoulder.

He turned to Tim and Yellen. “Is this what married life is like? You have to beg for affection?”

“Oh, Holden,” Tim said, laughing.

He smiled and hid the fact that he was on the verge of breaking into a nervous sweat. He wanted to turn and kiss Sean, feel his freshly showered beard and smell his skin, but he was terrified that Sean would think he was somehow trying to replicate what was happening in the room. And that would not be good.

So he sat very still, staring ahead at their hosts instead. Both men continued to smile back encouragingly, smoothly doing what they did so well, hosting as if at a White House state dinner instead at a clothes-required almost orgy. A server appeared and replaced Sean’s glass of what looked like white wine, while he was tempted to say he wouldn’t be touching any alcohol. But Yellen asked him if he could get him his usual, and after he had helplessly cringed, he nodded, and Yellen order a chocolate martini.

“So what’re we talking about?” he asked in an upbeat manner.

“We were discussing our interest in participating in Sean’s foundation,” Yellen said.

And he instantly picked up the conversation from there as if his life depended on it. Reiterating the hosts’ commitment to at-risk kids in the community, he assured them that operations at the foundation would start after their wedding. From there he jumped right into asking about fatherhood and kids, knowing he was starting to talk too much but wanting Sean drawn into the conversation as soon as possible. Into conversation and away from frozenly eyeing the stilled, staring men around them.

As still as an ice sculpture, he was sure Sean was staring at a particularly heated show one threesome was putting on dead center ahead of them.

But his own eyes were locked on Tim and Yellen. This time there was no need to keep an eye on the room. Neither to spy recognized faces nor to watch for anyone’s approach. None of that applied here. Because no matter how fantastic Tim and Yellen were as people, no matter that they were getting Sean to mutter responses and were expressing delight at Sean’s desire to be a father “many times over” just like them, to which he somehow made a scared, unsure face on cue, no matter all of that, nothing was going to spare him from tonight. The very reason his friends hadn’t bothered to be seated with them.

Because fair or not, it looked like tonight, every guy he had ever dated since turning eighteen had decided to show up at Blake’s. Including the one in the center of that threesome.

Yes, apparently, the time for texts was over.

His mind returned as Tim and Yellen began standing up, making their excuses to go see to their other guys. The men thanked them for coming, reminding them that a hundred percent of their bill was going to Covenant House which housed and provided mental health care for at-risk kids, so to drink up.

Unable to help the look he was giving Tim, Tim came over, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered, “He’s lovely. He’ll be fine.”

Their waiter appeared as soon as the hosts were gone. Their drinks were gone as well. His chocolate martini and Sean’s white wine, even though he didn’t quite remember drinking his. Now Sean told the waiter he wanted a Bloody Mary. 

Swallowing, he watched his empty martini glass travel up to the waiter’s tray before quietly asking for sparkling water.

“We have a fantastic new English cider and Norwegian sparkling water blend that Mr. Yellen special ordered for you, Mr. Wilson. Would you care to try it?”

He just nodded. Although he wanted to ask whether it was flammable and if so to please not bring it to their table.

So Sean settled deeper into their couch, saying absolutely nothing. Looking at God only knew _what._ At the corner of his vision, Sean’s engagement ring dazzled like white fire. He turned to turn and ask him whether Tim and Yellen had mentioned that they’d been together for thirty years and imagine what kinds of rocky paths they’d traveled together. He did turn to Sean, only to find that Sean’s nakedly hostile gaze into the room had calcified, leaving no misunderstanding what Sean was thinking.

Especially since there was also no mistaking the nature of the return stares Sean was generating. He’d wanted to check once or twice whether they were both dressed.

Their waiter brought their drinks and told them to enjoy.

—

First to approach was, unbelievably, Tyler Kerkorian. His neighbor in Bel Air. Who wasn’t gay. But Tyler’s dad and his dad were friends and Tyler’s family owned a Hollywood movie studio along with several hotel properties worldwide. He’d grown up with Tyler, gone to middle school with him, and Tyler’s hallmark was that he didn’t like to miss out on anything. 

He watched Tyler make his way to them around bodies and chairs, drink in hand, grinning at him like he’d finally caught him in some taboo act.

“Holden, you dog. You freaking dog. So? How ‘bout an intro?” Tyler didn’t wait. Reaching across their table, Tyler leaned in for a handshake. “I’m Tyler, Sean,” he said, as if Sean had been asking for him. “Holden’s neighbor and erstwhile school buddy.”

Not too surprisingly, he felt relief. Sean’s gaydar was as honed as they came, and Sean took the handshake with a small nod and no air of animosity, probably knowing Tyler wasn’t what he was hating on. A vibe that was more than enough invitation for Tyler to sit and pull up his chair.

“Nice being out without the parents, right?” Tyler said to him. And without being asked, started explaining how last summer had been a total bore and a pain trying to get to them with all of Bel Air’s “old folks association” crowding.

“The goddamned Hansons, Holden. Oh, you noticed too?” He hadn’t in fact given any indication... “I think they _all_ still hate the fact that you hooked up with an outsider. And they _really_ hate that you’re a football player, Sean. And listen, not gonna lie, not one of us in a billion years could have seen Holden even knowing where to find someone like you. I mean, look at this place. You see any closeted shot callers trying to sneak in? But here you are. Here you _both_ are, looking awesome together. I for one am for this. I’m for it, Holden. It kinda makes you badass.”

Tyler then cackled, never needing anyone to join him in his enjoyment of life. Ty who had friends all over the world, collected designer sunglasses, and never hesitated to use words like erstwhile.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked him.

“I heard you were coming!” Tyler cried. “A couple friends were like, yo! So I had to tag along. Had to come meet Sean. I mean, I’m sitting in front of Sean Jackson. Dude, I’m playing Madden NFL as _you!_ Plus, I didn’t want to run into you in the neighborhood on one of my morning runs and be a total stranger. That’d be uncool. What _would_ be cool if we did run into each other doing power runs in Bel Air. That’d blow up my IG.” 

Tyler then stopped, leaned closer, glancing dramatically over his shoulder.

“Clearly I’m not the only one interested in meeting you, Sean. Listen, bro,” he told Sean. “Don’t even worry about it. I get chicks doing this to me all the time. I get the one girl I like, I take her out, and every girl I ever dated from Bel Air to Paris shows up to get catty. Stay strong.”

He’d been making eye contact with Tyler since he shifted topics, discreetly shaking his head. Tyler caught his look, grinned and raised both hands, one of which still held his drink.

“Sean, it’s been great. I’m around if you need a hand kicking someone’s ass. Not that I’m accusing you of ever doing anything like that. Meantime,” Tyler paused, looking around, “how ‘bout I go bug Manassian instead? Where is my main bitch? He’s gotta be here somewhere.” 

Finally Tyler stood up, tipped his drink at them, and left without another word. Without question on his way to find and pester Elliot, who was Armenian like him and therefore subjected at any opportunity to attempts at communicating in a language Tyler barely spoke.

 

During Tyler’s speech, a few of his exes had shifted in a way that left no doubt what was coming next. And now with Tyler gone, the chair seemed dangerously vacant. So it was no surprise when the very man he’d been most concerned about, and had been keeping an eye on, stood up. Placing his drink on his table, Lawrence slowly buttoned his jacket and started over.

The low buzz of conversation in the room dropped to silence. Though it might just be in his head.

Reaching their table, Lawrence boldly took the seat Tyler had vacated, crossing his knees and staring straight at Sean with a polite smile. 

Hard, blank seconds ticked by, with Sean and Lawrence locked in a death stare.

He started at Lawrence too, silently asking him to just get up and leave. Then he turned to Sean, meaning to quickly end it. 

But once he saw the ice in Sean’s stare, while Lawrence smugly waited for introductions, he realized he didn’t want to do it. 

He’d never been intentionally rude if he could help it, but suddenly he was loathed to tell Sean Lawrence’s name. Suddenly it felt like giving Lawrence, and every last one of them who’d been flooding his inbox with their absurd messages, a power he didn’t wish to grant. So he simply turned a displeased look back at Lawrence. After a few more loaded seconds during which Lawrence realized he wasn’t going to get introduced, Lawrence simply moved his eyes to Sean.

“Hi, Sean. I’m Lawrence. I used to date Holden.”

There was total silence.

Lawrence smiled. “I know. A little awkward.”

When the silence continued, he couldn’t bear it and said, “Lawrence, it’s— how are you? How’s work?”

Lawrence pulled a face. “How’s _work?_ Yikes, Holden.” Then Lawrence was giving Sean an inquisitive look. “And it’s... so interesting to meet you. I mean— where the hell did you even come from?”

Blood slowly drained from his face.

And Lawrence saw it too, and discovered at that moment that he had a conscience. Instead of continuing down that path, Lawrence glanced around. “So why come here anyway? Neither of you looks too happy to be here. You could have just had dinner with Tim and Yellen, support Covenant House some other way. Oh wait, is this a farewell tour?”

“You’re being an asshole,” he said frankly.

Lawrence shrugged. But he got the point. Picking up his drink, he slowly stood up, dropping a business card on the table.

“Nice meeting you, Sean. Keep an eye on this one.”

Lawrence left and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But Lawrence having come and gone in one piece, the floodgates opened. 

When they had all come and gone, he counted fourteen men.

In fourteen months he wouldn’t have seen a fraction of them in the same bar in one night. But here they all were. Making it look like he was the only person on the planet who’d ever had more than one partner. He was born and had lived in LA his entire life, so if every guy he’d ever dated showed up in one place at the same time, of course it would look bad.

It was unfair and embarrassing. And he didn’t know what Sean wanted from this, how he sat there and tolerated it. At a point he turned to Sean and whispered that it was getting late, that they’d seen Tim and Yellen who were they reason they’d come and that they could go home any time. Sean didn’t even seem aware of him speaking, his eyes still forward. It was like they were in different rooms. Compared to this deep freeze, he found himself longing for the heat and tension that had been Ten.

After Lawrence, Foley came, whom he’d met just the other day at his tailor’s shop and who now stared a hole into his face, before doing the same to Sean, before congratulating them both on their engagement, then stammering how surprised he’d been to hear its announcement because “Nobody had— nobody can quite— well, congratulations,” before quickly placing a business card on Lawrence’s, and leaving. 

After him came Herc who was a producer for ABC News and wouldn’t take the amused, baffled expression off his face. Congratulated them, dropped his business card and told Sean that they’d love an interview sometime. Then came Jacob from the governor’s LA liaison office, who after leaving his own card said, “Well, I can see why Holden is infatuated.” Next came Michael Granger from Credit Suisse, who said “Well done” to Sean for coming out, “and apparently, with perfect timing,” while translating his meaning into a smirk pointed in his direction. Reuben, a manager for private jet rentals, told Sean that it was nice to see him at Blake’s and that if Sean ever needed it, he worked for a company with a reputation for discretion. “Nothing that happens on board gets out. You can ask Holden,” and did his own translating as a visual eye-fucking, also in his direction. Oliver who worked at one of the card concierge services he used, congratulated them and set his black card not with the rest, but right in front of Sean. “We do couples,” Oliver said with a small smile, first at Sean, then a lingering one at him. At which point he could have asked Oliver to give him a fucking break. He ordered dinners in and flowers sometimes when he had an overnight guest. Oliver’s company wasn’t a fucking escort service. At least, not as far as he knew.

Even Stuart came. Timid Stuart, whose eyes seemed forever seeking his engagement ring. His right arm was on the table, so that only took a second, then Stuart sought Sean’s, then was congratulating them, pouring compliment after compliment until he gently thanked him, and somehow managed to pull on a smile in response to Stuart’s small, genuine one.

And then Joel Kresner appeared.

Joel ignored Sean. “Longest time, Holden,” Joel said softly. “Don’t you look appetizing tonight.” And brazenly ignoring the arm Sean had around his shoulder, leaned over and kissed his cheek. In complete disbelief, he watched him straighten.

“It’s really good to see you here again. Was afraid we never would.” Joel then stretched out his arm and lightly touched his jaw. “I’m still around if you ever feel like talking.”

And Joel left.

He lowered his eyes, breathed a little and waited. Whenever Sean tired of this, they would leave. And let whatever was coming his way happen. 

Still, he was about to try again when a dark-haired guy walked up, and for a moment he saw Darren. He almost stood up to call an end to the night no matter what Sean wanted.

But it wasn’t Darren, it was Vincent, the Beverly Hills plastic surgeon with the nice hands.

Vincent sat down without a drink and called a server over to bring him an Old Fashioned.

Throughout the onslaught, not a hair on Sean had moved, and it had easily been more than half an hour. It had long started feeling as if the arm around him and the body against him were just a big piece of guilt he was shouldering.

Now as Vincent sat and crossed his ankles, legs stretched precariously toward Sean, Sean turned his head slightly and followed the movement. Vincent was grinning. The server appeared with the whiskey, too fast for it not to have been pre-arranged. Lightly dropped the tumbler and disappeared. Vincent picked it up, drank, and lowered it with an orgasmic expression.

“I swear Tim and Yellen have a secret stash of bourbon they only tap for special guests. Clearly, I’m not one.” Vincent grinned some more, at Sean. “But you are.”

The subsiding rush of adrenalin was leaving him a little weak. So fuck it. He was done trying to avert disaster, talking and thanking guys he knew meant not a single well wish.

Vincent frowned. “Why the long faces. Aren’t you two having a great night? You’re like Charles and Diana over here. Sean, this should be like a touchdown at the Super Bowl for you. I’ve never seen so many grown men presumably with self-respect make such a show of themselves. Then again, I suppose this is what Blake’s is for.” Vincent raised his tumbler. “I’m just here to say mazel tov. My name is Vincent, Sean,” he said nicely. “Holden and I used to go out. I _loved_ Holden. We had such a good time together. I swear we were the perfect match.” Vincent laughed. “I’m serious. And you want to know why he broke up with me? Because I sent him a text one morning telling him just that. I told him we should consider taking it to the next level. I knew it would be over after that. But it was cool. I feel pretty good about having tried my luck.”

Vince smiled at him. “Holden, I called you on it, asked you to bring him out, and here he is. Can’t say it’s something I ever believed I’d see, but he is. The one you chose. I was actually still waiting for our breakup text, but since it’s been a couple years, I’ll take this as your answer.”

Vincent laughed at his own joke. And finally, he pulled back his legs and smiled at Sean. “Take care of him. Some of us would have really liked to.”

And Vincent made number fourteen.

It was as Vincent stood and left that Craig appeared across the room and from there, casually indicated that Sean come over.

Slowly withdrawing his arm, Sean simply stood from their booth, walked around the table and chairs, and left him.

As soon as Sean was out of the room, Elliot came, taking the chair closest to him. Elliot then waved a waiter over.

—

“Sean,” Craig said, having walked him into another room, an inner part of this establishment that he couldn’t find a polite name for. This room was much smaller, tall drinks tables and barstools instead of couches and chairs. It was occupied by four men, all four of whom on seeing their faces he had to stop his eyes from widening.

Craig introduced him to everyone, and the four very famous men shook his hand one by one.

“Holden’s probably busy,” one said, and the other three laughed. Craig quickly started the conversation, which apparently was just for them to all get aquatinted.

—

“You’re not... staying a little longer?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the one who had asked. Craig was already at the entrance waiting to leave with him. The other three were also waiting for his answer. Hanging with them had been pleasant. Nicer because it had felt somehow that he was giving them the support he’d never had—never had the guts to seek—when he’d been in the closet.

But his heart was in physical pain.

He shook his head. “Not really my scene.”

The one who’d asked placed a hand on his chest, feigning dispair.

He followed Craig, heading for the back door the actors had come in through. He’d been brought in through the front, but he never wanted to be in that lounge again if he could help it. The hosts, inexplicably but obviously very solidly married and in love in spite of the nature of their bar, though again, they were...well, European, met him at the secret exit. They both warmly hugged him together, thanking him for coming and saying they hoped to see him and Holden more regularly. He muttered something polite sounding while they opened the doors to the warm night air and the Geffen Foundation car parked there.

Yellen looked around. “Where’s Petey?”

“Here.”

Petey had suddenly appeared from inside the bar.

He was at the doors, Yellen holding them open with Tim beside him, and Craig outside by the car. Petey came up and kissed both Tim and Yellen on the cheek, whispering that he’d had a great time, then with a quick heated look cast at him, Petey carefully slid between him and the open door while a breathless “Excuse me, Sean” floated up at him. Both hosts were laughing silently. Outside, Craig silently followed Petey around to the other side of the car, giving him a chance to thank the hosts again while pretending not to see what was going on over there. 

And then he went to the back door of the car, where the driver was holding it open, and getting in, prayed he’d get some time alone at his house before Holden came.

*

Holden didn’t come to his house that night. It took a couple hours after getting in to realize it, assuming as he was that there might be traffic coming down Sunset. But approaching the second hour, with no call or text, it occurred to him that Holden meant to spare them the continuation of an extraordinarily nasty night.

But he had no arguments to give Holden. Even at two a.m., exhausted but still unable to sleep, he had no way to make the ground beneath him stop its uneasy swaying. Like it would be gone with his next step. By the time he realized Holden wasn’t coming, he had been through all his points several times over.

But they were just words. Meaningless compared to living through something. All his years of sick feelings and insecurities could not have compared to the real thing. He sat on his bedroom patio staring at the stone floor, repressing pain that kept sweeping up his chest. Yet he felt disconnected from himself, sure that if he stood in front of the mirror there would be nobody there.

He had spent four years trying not to see their faces, those men who’d swam up like sharks. Staring at him the way he had seen his straight colleagues stare at call girls some of the guys would bring to events—revulsion being stoked by a wild, sexual fascination. And the way they had shifted their gazes to Holden, as though, if Holden would only look at them, they would provide his way back to freedom. Four years trying never to see their faces because he never wanted to see them while thinking of Holden. But now he had not only faces, but names to match. 

Even a particular one, whose face had taken only a second to recall. Curly, raven haired, as good looking as a movie star. From one of Cecelia’s cocktails last summer. The period when he had been foolishly fighting with Holden for not wholly throwing out his belief systems and fully jumping in on his side simply because they’d finally committed to each other. It had been July. He remembered it so well. Standing across the room, confused and angry, watching this guy all over Holden. Holden had come with a guest, an army vet if he remembered right. After she left, Holden soon had as well. Except that this guy had followed, leaving Cecelia’s house hot on Holden’s heels.

Seeing it, he had nearly gone mental. And for the maybe thirty seconds it had taken for Holden to send the guy right back in, he probably had. Only to get home to find flowers from Holden and more apologies waiting at his front door.

That entire period last summer, he had been angry at Holden, and it had been a thoughtless, useless anger. Swallowing time they could have spent together, love they could have shared, and understanding he could have extended to Holden. Holden had needed his support but he had made it about own his feelings instead.

He wasn’t going to do that this time.

They were being targeted for embarrassment and break-up. If the TMZ article had left room for doubt, tonight had made it daylight clear. But he was finally seeing what Holden had been saying all along. The past was the past. And whatever their faults, they were each other’s problems, not someone else’s to mess with.

So, bleary eyed, badly needing sleep and wishing his lover were in his arms, he called him.

“Did I wake you?”

“I’m up.”

“Were you able to get some sleep?”

There was a pause. “For a little bit.”

He paused too. 

“Was what I just saw the past, Holden?”

“You know it is.”

After a long moment, he let out a huge breath. “I’ll live. Tonight wasn’t easy. But I’ll live. I just wanted to call to let you know that. And to tell you that I love you. And I always will.”

“Sean, I’m in love with you. And if either of us can’t cure me, then believe me there’s nothing anyone else can do about it.”

He lowered his head. Frustrated that he’d been even this stupid.

“I wish you were here.”

There was a beat. Then Holden said, “Close your eyes and count to one hundred.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

The Raven Night gala at the Beverly Hills Hotel was for two hundred or so guests, bigger than any of their events to date. Holden met him and Petey on the already filled red carpet entry to the hotel. A big smile on his face, Holden stood close, waiting as he climbed out of the limo, gripping his tux lapel when he got close enough and smushing a hard kiss to his lips. Holding it as cameras flashed. And flash they did. It brought a helpless smile to his face. The last time he’d kissed Holden for the cameras, Holden had given him hell for it. Sometimes love was indeed a waiting game. Kiss softly broken, Holden stood there staring into his eyes like it was just the two of them. No flocks of guests, no lights and noise. Only magic. He loved it. Media outlets shouting their names for their attention, Holden with eyes only on him, shining from hair to polished foot-long wingtips, looking like walking happiness.

Petey led them past everyone and everything, guests posing for pictures and yelling media outlets, strolling effortlessly ahead like a model on a runway. They passed guests who brightened with “Hi!”s at Holden and appeared startled, verbally stumbling, on seeing him. He grinned at them, loving the way Holden came back when he slowed down, because it _was_ satisfying to get those reactions, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his face like he’d run out of fuel and he had just the thing.

Inside the foyer, Petey introduced them as a couple to the organizers, elegantly repeating “Sean and Holden” enough times for even him to get the idea. The occasion directors appeared besides themselves with joy. Later he discovered that it had more to do with getting greater access to NFL charities than with happiness for him and his love life per se. But at the time he’d marveled at how excited they were at meeting Holden’s significant other, comparing it quite favorably to his experience in Bel Air. And even when he realized his mistake, that the organizers were here for business and not necessarily his special feelings of success, he still smiled, figuring hey, he’d enjoy every victory that came his way.

Finished with introductions, Petey walked them into a ballroom glittering with dinner table settings and guests enthusiastically greeting each other. After which Petey wildly but fleetingly caught his eyes, then quickly broke eye contact and stammered at Holden that he’d meet up with him later and to have fun, then fled. He offered no reaction. Were he looking in from the outside, he’d have sworn he and Petey were having an affair behind Holden’s back. Holden had told him that Petey was behind their summer schedule and was a brilliant campaign director. Could be, seeing as Petey did remind him a lot of Kara, but beyond that, he’d have to take Holden’s word for it. What he was in fact noticing about Petey had to do more with Craig. But he wasn’t sure it wasn’t just his imagination and what he was noticing seemed strange and made him uncomfortable, so he was inclined to blank it all anyway.

Arm tight around his waist, Holden walked him into a circle of guests who cried with glee at seeing him and started dispensing hugs. Watching, he immediately began thinking that he’d met Holden at an event like this one, though smaller, and could never forget how his head had spun. He’d subsequently spent three years seldom attending events with him, not just from disinterest but because there’s been little chance of faking platonic interest with Holden standing in the same room with him. A lifetime of self-preservation had ensured not having to think that hard about a choice to stay home. Therefore now he was realizing that he’d hardly ever seen Holden in happy social action, his charm on full blast and him a voyeur. Holden was a natural delight, a tall, lean butterfly, fluttering and landing briefly on guests and making them laugh, dispensing excitement and curiosity. Watching him was like molasses melting on his tongue, making every nerve ending feel sweet, making him silently congratulate himself that he hadn’t let the pain in his heart dictate anything. They were always on the same side, they would always win as long as they supported each other instead of tearing each other down.

Smiling self-consciously, he returned the smile of a watchful guest, and recognized that his fantasying would have to take second place to his own obligations for the night, which was what Holden wasn’t slacking off on. And seeing a couple of faces from Cavanaugh who greeted him warmly, he brought himself to the present and began engaging one and all.

The event was a fundraiser for what Holden had told him was “this little fund” that supported a national health alliance for the LGBTQ community. Covering bills for specialized medical care and the like, problems that hardly crossed the lives of most people, the dinner was a hundred grand a ticket. And since he actually broke sweat and other body parts earning his pay, he intended to enjoy every minute of it. But he was humbled and very grateful for a partner who tirelessly cared.

The night was also some sort of trademark gala, with a yearly theme to it. And almost instantly there was disagreement in their circle over who would get Holden on their “team.” And would he be willing to share? No idea what they were referring to, but having just last week to package and send a painting to Holden’s secretary for reasons he wasn’t entirely clear on, he smiled and said no problem. Laughing, his arm still firmly around his waist, Holden assured him he’d love tonight.

“Holden, I’ve _never_ seen you this happy,” a guest said. “You’re like, happy guy.”

“You wanna see how I get that way?” Holden said, his gaze already on him. “Watch. Watch this.” And Holden planted a full- faced kiss to his face, getting him somewhere between his cheekbone and the corner of his eye. “Wait,” Holden continued, sounding sexier than he’d ever heard out of bed, “I don’t think I got that exactly where I wanted.” And then proceeded to kiss whatever space on the left side of his face he could fit his lips to.

It was hilarious, even he had to admit. Guests laughed, as did Holden, like a little kid. He stole a glance sideways to see it. The events at that bar he didn’t want to name had walked them so close to a precipice. He couldn’t believe how well they had both handled it. How Holden had finally known to give him space that night, and how, somehow, he’d suddenly heard every single thing Allison and Davey had been telling him about love and relationships. There wasn’t going to be a bright line, it was probably always going to be a big fuzzy gray area of hard work, but that night on calling Holden, on hearing his steadfast, tenacious tones, he’d known they would make it.

After the phone call, though he’d known it was a strain on Holden’s schedule during this period, Holden had come over and had stayed in Malibu until morning. While the night had been tough, tense and quiet, Wednesday morning they had made breakfast together, not saying much but absorbing each other’s presence, reaching more for the old days and learning to move past their more recent behavior of simply kicking one out of the other’s presence. Holden had consistently been saying it, the past was the past, and that morning after, he knew it was time he accepted that. Daily he was finding it the most important thing to understand. The sole truth about their situation. So that Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday morning, he’d showed him love only, and got loved back. And there at the gala, as they touched and kissed so publicly, overwriting memories of Holden chafing whenever he’d tried this in the past, it felt absolutely like they had hit a stunning new chapter.

—

Seated at dinner, he had his back to the French windows showing the hotel gardens. Lit paths, soft illumination underneath palm fronds. Listening at their table to Holden challenging a guest on the validity of Paris as the most romantic city in the world. Holden was insisting it was this one strip of Malibu beachfront, putting their table in stitches. In spite of his upbeat thoughts, in spite of pleasure radiating from Holden that was leaving him weak-kneed, in spite of all that, the lighted back gardens behind him were like a physical hand on his back. This was the hotel where Holden had brought him after the season, when he’d been unable to readjust to their life together. In January when he’d been unable to get past the mental block that had nearly defeated him—had defeated him—in the fall. A lifetime ago. Yet even with his back to the tall windows, he could clearly see the gardens. The winding paths he’d walked enough times to since know by heart, beyond which were the bungalows where they’d stayed. Where Holden would return from work each evening and stand at the entrance staring at him. As though Holden was the one who’d lost his way and had no idea how he had ended up standing there. And though he knew those were mere memories, nodding in agreement when the guest next to him sighed and remarked on how lovely the hotel grounds were, though he knew all that stuff was the past, he found he still couldn’t look back there.

—

Dinner had since ended and guests were now mingling, talking animatedly while dessert was being set up. Turned out dessert was the themed part of the evening. A treasure hunt, with the goodies to be consumed in a designated order. Around them, tables were being efficiently set up by fast moving servers, and soon the theme revealed itself to be “elementary school.” 

Nearby to where he stood talking to a movie marketing executive—coincidentally an executive whose studio had made a recent movie he’d really liked—a table was already filled with praline tortes made to look like oversized No. 2 pencils, with tiny signs among the plates indicating the whereabouts of “glue”—pistachio pineapple mousse. Guests were to hint to each other the whereabouts of the next stage in the hunt, with ever greater rewards such as a “teachers platter” somewhere in the ballroom. It made for decent entertainment, with Holden already causing a stir by telling people he had a secret dessert map. Although once the hunt kicked off it became obvious that it was actually just a great way for the organizers to engage guests one-on-one and was how he discovered the true reason for their excitement at his presence. Bracketed by a couple of them, being flattered with praise that he and Holden were making an effort at becoming a more visible part of the community, that there was so much they could accomplish together as a couple, he nodded and unhesitantly said, “Absolutely when asked whether they intended to keep it up. So how best to entice NFL players who supported the community to show up for these events, an organizer asked. “Forget the players,” he said with a straight face. “Just send cards to their spouses. You get them interested, and believe me, we’ll be here. No discussions.” It got him laughs, nods and smiles.

But while he stood with them, he mostly listened. Holden was on the other side of ballroom.

Upon arriving, besides noticing that the guests were mostly couples, business executives and their husbands and wives, he’d also noticed that quite a number of guests were single men. Despite everything, he’d noticed that. And now he was noticing that a lot of them were talking to Holden.

Not staying too long, and Holden hardly ever seemed alone with any of them, constantly in a small circle of guests as he was. Yet, somewhat like a more brightly lit version of Tuesday night, the men approached, and stood closer to Holden than other guests. And many of them whispered to Holden. Whispered, while he ticked off the long, slow seconds their heads stayed close, while Holden show no reaction whatsoever, none even for him to notice, who at this point knew all of Holden’s nuances. But he did notice that except for one, the one who worked for some kind of concierge service company, except for that one, he didn’t see a single repeat face from Tuesday night.

But whose fault was that. Who stood there looking, bothering to notice. Holden was over there holding up his end of their relationship, paying no mind to antics no matter how desperate. That was _his_ sweetheart at work, and he had no intention of behaving like an ass over here. He fully intended on letting Holden socialized on his side of the ballroom.

And he didn’t have to feign ease of mind or smiles when Holden would occasionally appear beside him, a dessert cup or plate in hand, offering him a taste and asking him to make some for him later. “Sean can pretty much do anything,” he told anyone who would listen, charming all to pieces. No less him.

Craig and Elliot were also at the gala, Craig having vanished post-dinner with a small smile and a shake of his head at the mention of dessert. Petey he could be sure would stay far at all times. Elliot was staying close by Holden, telling him it was nice to see him again when they briefly encountered. While he couldn’t in good conscious tell him the same, he’d nodded for Holden’s sake. After Ten, much less his very calculated invisibility at Blake’s, he was even less confused about Elliot’s issue with him. There _was_ an unmistakable element of “clueless farm boy” who didn’t deserve his best friend, but there was something much more annoying as well. It was obvious that Elliot didn’t think he knew what he was doing where Holden was concerned. It should have made him angry, but it just left him feeling like he was running on sand.

— 

“I’ve been away from him long enough.” Setting down the “principal’s platter,” a chef’s plate of dessert samplers he’d tracked down fair and square, which he hoped had won him the treasure hunt, he looked at Elliot. “Don’t you think?”

Elliot swallowed his mouthful of key lime pie, made to look like a little stack of books, and shook his head.

“Don’t make it look like you can’t be separated from him for a minute, H. Blake’s was not a win.”

“Will you stop saying that? Weren’t you with me when I first saw it on the schedule and thought it would spell total disaster? Yet he’s standing out there right now? Blake’s was a breakthrough.”

“And will _you_ stop saying that. Don’t cope by mislabeling it.”

“Oh, and in case I haven’t said it,” he said, forging ahead of Elliot’s determined downpour. “Because it needs to be said. Every guy I’ve ever met in LA embarrassed himself that night. Except Tyler Kerkorian of all people. And Vincent, who was at least sincere. You know— all those texts and emails they kept sending, I thought everyone was just being… clever… or attention seeking or something. But Jesus. Elliot, how can you not want to murder half of them for what they did. I’d never have believed any of it had I not been sitting there.”

“I thought they all behaved themselves.”

He paused, looking at his empty dessert platter, and said nothing.

“What’d you do with all the business cards?”

“As far as I know, Tim and Yellen now have an embossed dart board I can use the next time I’m there.”

“You plan on being back?”

Stopping talking altogether, he eyed Elliot. “I believe that was a figure of speech.”

“So you plan on never going back.”

“You know what I’m finding difficult to process? How you can be this annoying.”

“And you know what I’m finding difficult to process? How you’ve become so terrified of a guy.”

“Okay, let’s not go there. He’s handled this astoundingly well. _He_ called _me_ that night and asked me to come over. I think we can agree he’s passed this test.”

“He called you up to Malibu?” Elliot asked, surprised.

“Yes. So back off. I spent years having a great time at Blake’s, but it’s not his scene. So I can stop going. I’m sure Tim and Yellen will understand. And I’m sure they can still turn a profit without my presence.”

The minute he said it he gave Elliot a dirty look, stopping his comeback, and Elliot made a saucy face but was quiet. Making him shift his eyes to his plate where he’d set it down next to Elliot, who like him was seated on stacked plastic crates. They were inside a storage room off the ballroom’s kitchens, the clangs and shouts from outside the swing doors drowning out the farther sounds of the gala. There was barely enough room to stretch their legs in the space, so they sat facing each other, their legs interlaced, finishing their desserts in some privacy.

“Did you guys end up having angry sex?”

He lifted a look at Elliot. “You don’t even like him.”

“But I like sexy angry sex.”

He didn’t answer for a while, then quietly, he said, “This time he was very, very slightly willing to acknowledge that Blake’s even happened. Between us, that’s a battle won, believe me. Elliot, I’ve never wanted him to turn a blind eye to the fact that, as Craig so correctly put it, at one point I did want… other things as much I was wanted him.” But he didn’t tell Elliot what those other things were, an entitled desire for self-preservation, for ways out. Which he found through so many way, half which had shown up at Blake’s. “Believe me, his response was far batter than in the past when there’d just be this total blackout until he blew up in anger.”

And listening to himself, he wondered that after years of locking down his feelings, keeping his life with Sean so separate and secret, he’d now be figuring Sean out with Elliot.

“Well, that’s good,” Elliot said after a moment, after a little thinking of his own, and not sounding at all convinced by anything he’d just explained.

“You don’t think it’s good?”

“I just said it was.”

“But…”

“But it’s not the finish line.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, pushing back, and cutting into his pie, he ate a little. “Just saying it.”

They were both quiet. “It’s a breakthrough,” he eventually, softly, insisted again. And after some more moments, Elliot’s knee gently bumped his, making him look at him. 

“You’re going great,” Elliot said gently.

“He’s doing great,” he said. “Say it.”

Elliot smiled. But Elliot didn’t say anything.

The door suddenly opened, pushing against Elliot’s right leg in the tiny room as Petey slipped in.

“Who’s supposed to be with him?” Petey looked distressed, so no need to ask who he was referring to. 

“Craig,” Elliot replied.

“He’s not. Craig isn’t with him. He’s probably somewhere getting his dick sucked. Whereas I don’t want to hear about another _Paxton._ We’re on a hair-trigger after Blake’s.”

“He’s fine,” Elliot said.

Confused, Petey looked wordlessly at them.

“Hey, Petey,” he said softly. “So what exactly is going on between you and Sean?”

Elliot caught himself before he had a key lime pie accident through his nose, while Petey first looked ashamed, then despondent.

“Holden, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t mean to be such a freak about it.”

“You’re not being a freak about it,” he told him kindly.

“No,” Elliot said. “Besides jerking off to fantasies of your best friend’s fiancé savaging you every night.”

Petey froze, his mouth parting a little. Then his face darkened.

“Craig is _such_ an _asshole!_ ”

Startled, he and Elliot exchanged looks, then Elliot did lose his pie. Thankfully he also had a napkin with him, which he pressed to his mouth while Petey glanced between them. Then Petey closed his eyes, realizing nothing had come from Craig.

“And I’m an such idiot,” Petey said.

“You’re not,” he said. “But you’re going home and jerking off to Sean… and telling Craig about it? And you wonder why he’s always fucking with you?”

“He just has this way of making you say and do things you don’t want to.” A superpower of Craig’s he knew nothing about. Petey sighed, looking as confused as the kid he was. “Holden, please don’t take it the wrong way.”

“You’re fine,” he said with a straight face. “Fortunately, Sean isn’t the type to take advantage of how you feel.”

While Elliot was now getting tears in his eyes, Petey looked transported.

“He isn’t, is he?”

“No,” Elliot said, setting down his plate, then snaking his arm around Petey’s waist and pulling him close. So that Petey had to steady himself on his shoulders. “He’s more the type to grab and hold you tight, like this. Touch you right where you want,” Elliot lowered his hand past Petey’s stomach, then lowered his voice. “And Jamie, he _demands_ obedience… and shows no mercy—”

Petey swatted Elliot’s hand, stepping away from him and back to the doors. Blushing to death. After a few muttered words in Spanish, Petey repeated his concern at Sean being alone, blushed some more, then left them.

After Petey was gone, he gave it a moment, then told Elliot he was heading back into the ballroom.

“Holden, it’s just not that kind of evening. It’s all couples out there. Besides, you don’t see Craig hanging around him, do you?”

“That’s because Craig probably is getting head somewhere.”

Elliot lowered his napkin. “I’ll go. You have heir duties. Who’s here you’re worried about?”

“Remember Neil from Citibank?”

“Passive aggressive Neil? ”

He’d been staring through the slight crack of the rubberized doors. Now he brought his gaze back to Elliot. “That’s how you remember him?”

“That’s how I chose to remember him nicely, yes.”

“Okay, well, he’s here, and he’s been staring at Sean all night.”

“These men, Holden. These men. Who else?”

“Scott Tallasie. Who’s been _talking_ to Sean.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I have no idea what he’s been saying but Sean looked pretty entertained when I left the ballroom.”

Elliot looked a little worried now. “Who else?”

“Neil is with Freddy from Alliance. I think they came as a couple.”

Elliot looked surprised. “Are they dating?”

“Well, seeing as Freddy always wanted the three of us in bed together, likely.”

Elliot shook his head, wiping his fingers as he stood up from the crate. “You should write a book.”

“Listen, Elliot, don’t antagonize him please. And don’t think I’m not keeping score.”

“Just give me a cute Armenian accent in the book. And have me driving a Ferrari.”

—

The film marketing executive he’d talked to at length earlier worked for the very movie he’d gone to see the night he’d proposed and Holden had freaked out. Not that it was the best movie in the world or anything, and even Scott agreed to its flaws, but that he’d sat there having secured his own love at last had made the movie special for him. He didn’t tell Scott the circumstance around seeing it, just that it had been the same night. Scott had been thrilled, hoping the movie had actually inspired him to pop the question. He’d smiled but hadn’t clarified. They’d since parted ways.

Some time later while he was finishing a conversation with a Silicon Valley executive and her husband, Scott was suddenly back with a big smile on his face. The couple told him it was nice to meet him and moved on, and Scott took their place.

“Sean,” Scott now said, beckoning to past his shoulder. “I’d like you to meet a couple friends of mine. This is Neil, works at Citibank in film finance, and Freddy works for Alliance Place. You’ve heard of Alliance, right? Coordinates dates for charity events, so all these organizations don’t have their event dates clashing and all that.”

He said hello to both men, wondering whether Scott was trying to push him to make a movie. When they’d been talking, Scott had said that his and Holden’s relationship would make a great commercial movie of its own, that he was pretty sure the world was ready for that kind of movie, especially with him being “an NFL superstar.” He’d shrugged it off, covering the embarrassment that prickled him at the thought. Have the whole world look into their relationship? No thank you. And since he still wasn’t talking movie or book deals with anyone, he’d quickly moved on from the topic.

He hoped Neil, being a film finance executive, wasn’t a way to revive it. Evidently, he was wearing too polite a smile because Neil also smiled.

“You don’t have to look like you’re about to walk on hot coals, Sean. It’s just nice to see you at these functions.”

The other two laughed a little and he shrugged a little as glad, glad the ice was broken.

“It’s really not that,” he said. “It’s just hard to keep track of so many names and organizations.”

“Master it, Sean,” Scott said. “This is what philanthropy is all about. Holden can do it in his sleep.”

For a flash it looked like the third one, Freddy, cut off a fresh bout of laughter. But the guy was standing at the corner of his vision and he wasn’t sure he’d seen right. He found himself looking at the guy.

Freddy returned his gaze. “What a pleasure it is to meet you, Sean,” he said. “You’re such an uncommon sight at these functions. After the Glaad Awards last year, you know, the Big Kiss Show, and then your foundation announcement dinner later in the summer, everyone thought you’d be out everywhere with Holden.”

“Well, you know. Offseasons can get busy. Whatever happened to the days of sending checks, right?”

The trio laughed.

“Sure, sure,” Neil said, nodding.

“And this year you’ve got your wedding ,” Freddy said. “So… I guess it’s all about prioritizing.”

“Yeah,” he said, not really sure what the guy was getting at, just getting a feeling.

“You’re gorgeous, by the way,” Freddy continued, smiling invitingly. “I’d never forgive myself if I left that out.”

He smiled back, somehow not as flattered as he probably should be.

There was something… off about these guys. Scott included. Especially in the way he was standing there with a self-satisfied smile. A smile he’d thought had to do with trying to triangulate a movie interest, but now he was sensing that wasn’t it.

“I also wanted to say, your foundation is such a beautiful idea. It’s really nice that you’re working with kids, especially high schoolers. I’m all for organizations that focus on them exclusively, because for them it really is a special kind of battle. So when are you opening your doors?”

“A lot’s delayed us.”

“The wedding?” Freddy asked, innocently.

“Yeah… But everything’s falling in place. I’m sure by summer’s end we’ll open for business. We already have schemes ready to go.”

All three nodded slowly, attentively.

“And I have to say,” Freddy said again. “I think you coming out is one of the best things that’s happened for the community here in L.A. I know some people don’t think it’s that big a deal, but that’s because they don’t understand. It is a big deal. And I loved the way you handled yourself on Howard Stern. I think it’s important to just be yourself rather than trying to carry an entire community’s diversity on your shoulders.”

“You have drool on your chin, Freddy,” Neil said.

Freddy laughed retiringly. “Whatever. I’m gonna say what I have to say.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

In his sleep he could tell whether a guy was hitting on him. Be they gay, bisexual, or even straight guys just feeling horny. It was a survival skill he didn’t expect to lose any time soon. So he was very much aware that, though it somewhat looked that way, these men ware not here hitting on him.

Neil now leaned in. “Listen, Sean. I, uhm... I have a question that’s been bugging the hell out of me for a long time. And you know what? I bet you many men besides me also have the same question.”

And Neil stopped talking.

But his stomach had slowly begun tightening. He kept his eyes on his champagne flute for a long moment, then looked at Scott who was smiling cordially, as if they were all about to enter a corporate board meeting.

“And Sean, don’t take this the wrong way, at all,” Neil went on, sounding perfectly friendly. “But I really do have to know. SO explain to me. How could you have been in an _exclusive_ true love relationship with Holden… at the same time Holden was dating me?”

He kept his stinging eyes on the flute, seeing nothing at all.

“Or did I read the Forbes article wrong?”

“You must have read wrong, Neil,” Scott said, his smile even in his voice.

“I don’t think so,” Neil said, then laughed slightly. “Or what, are you saying, I can’t do math? I’m in finance. I can do math.”

Both Freddy and Scott laughed.

“That would be some very sexy math,” Scott said.

“Well, yes.”

“And you double-checked the figures?”

“You know, I used to have _video_ of the figures,” Neil said in a lowered voice, and then momentarily stopped talking, as if waiting for him to look up. “And you know what? Video got confiscated.”

“Oooh,” Freddy said. “The dreaded Railings visit.”

“Yup. That guy worked for the NSA during the Cold War. Believe me, I handed everything over. But I still have my memories, thank God.”

“Small favors indeed,” Scott said.

Neil was smiling. At him. He could feel it. “Well, Sean, it appears you might have some math of your own to do.”

“Did the article say _exclusive_ though?” Freddy asked.

“Depends on which article you asked.” 

Their laughter intensified.

“It said exclusive.”

“Well, maybe—”

“There is one way to find out,” Freddy said, pulling out his phone. Lifting his gaze, he stared at the man. But Freddy had shifted his own gaze from his phone and was slowly scanning the room. “There he is,” Freddy said softly. And while he stood there, frozen, Freddy unlocked his phone with a swipe. “Neil, we are gonna test your memory. Sean? Don’t hate me for this.”

Then he watched as Freddy tapped once on his phone, and then twice more, and smiled. A third tap. The phone wasn’t on speaker. Yet he could feel the hard buzzing coming from it like, like an electrocution of his heart. All three men turned their heads toward the other side of the ballroom.

So did he.

Holden, who’d disappeared for a while, was now in a small group, listening to someone talking avidly. Then Holden looked down at his trousers, his hand moving to the buzzing phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, Holden looked at the caller, did nothing whatsoever for an excruciatingly painful second, then declined the call and put it back into his pocket. He was no longer able to look.

Turned slightly to his side, he shut his eyes. For just a fraction of a seconds, but it did nothing to quell the feeling that he was somewhere else, in a different time, in a different place.

Neil had turned back to their little circle and was pointing at Freddy.

“How do you still have Holden’s number on your phone? Do _I_ still have Holden’s number on my phone?” Neil pulled out his phone, pretended to look at it. “Oh, look. I do.”

Scott and Freddy were falling apart with laughter. Neil as well, before giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Sean. I just wanted a simple answer and this totally got out of hand.”

“I guess there are no simple answers in life,” Freddy said.

Scott shook his head. “You guys are terrible.”

And suddenly Elliot was walking up to them from behind.

“Who’s terrible?” Elliot asked, reaching them, his eyes moving between the three men before it settled on the phone Freddy was putting away. If Elliot knew what the phone had just been used for, he didn’t indicate. “Hey, Freddy. I didn’t know you made calls outside of other people’s bedrooms. Is this a new thing for you?”

Freddy dropped his phone into his pocket and said nothing at all.

Elliot turned to the other two.

“Dr. Jekyll, Mister Hyde.”

Neil pulled on a tight smile, tipped his drink in salute. “See you later, Elliot,” and began walking away. Freddy silently followed, and Scott, after telling Elliot it was nice to see him again, winked in his direction as he left.

Setting down his flute, he did so carefully, trying to be circumspect about his trembling hand. Then he clenched it in a fist to stop its shaking, but nothing helped. He looked away, trying to see what he could shift his attention to, what might allow him to continue standing in that ballroom drinking champagne and talking to people. But he couldn’t even make his eyes stop stinging long enough to focus.

“I’d like to leave,” he said.

Elliot didn’t move.

And he turned completely, intending to catch a cab at concierge. But Elliot put a hand on his arm, then turned and led the way towards what he seriously fucking hoped was the exit.

—

Elliot stopped while still at a distance, crooking a finger at him. 

Elliot looked… disturbed. 

It wasn’t a normal expression for Elliot at all. If he weren’t standing there with guests, perfectly safe and sound, he would have thought that _he_ was in peril. Which only meant one thing.

Hurriedly excusing himself, he went over to the ballroom back doors.

“Is- is Sean all right?”

“Sean is fine. Just stay calm.” Elliot turned and pushed through the doors. Then he said over his shoulder, “Sean wants to go home early.”

“Why? Elliot, what happened?”

“He had a run-in with Neil and co.”

He slowed down in the long hallway, confused. “So?” After Blake’s and Joel and Pax, he couldn’t imagine what special power Neil might have. Enough to have even Elliot so tense. 

Then he realized that Elliot _was_ tense. Not just concerned.

They’d reached the back doors which were cracked open, but he stopped just short, looking out into the night. He was staring straight ahead at the back driveway of the hotel, curving out of sight between swaying palms and rustling leaves. No car was in sight.

“Where’s Sean? Where’s the car?”

“They’re both out there,” Elliot said, still not looking back at him. And Elliot walked out.

With no choice but to follow, he slowly went to the doors. Pushing, he stepped out slowly, and turned to his left to see the Town Car, with Sean leaned against it, hands gripping the top frame. When Sean saw him, Sean quickly lowered his arms and turned completely away. 

His heart slowed to a feeble imitation of a heartbeat.

Farther past, Craig was standing with his hands in his pockets, his head down. And on the other side of the car, by the trunk, Petey had his eyes locked on Sean, looking almost panicked.

He turned back to Elliot, who was still with him at the doors.

“Just stay calm,” Elliot repeated.

He couldn’t understand why Elliot kept saying that. He had no reason not to be. Whatever Neil had said, he simply intended to go over there and remind Sean of what they’d agreed to focus on instead of the past.

He slowly started over. Craig left where he was, walking even farther down, and after a moment’s hesitation, Petey followed him. So that by the time he reached Sean, they were alone, with Elliot still by the doors.

There was something in the tension coming from Sean that was so familiar that it stooped him in his tracks, still several feet from Sean. Sean made as if to look at him, but didn’t.

“I need to go sleep this off, Holden. We don’t need to have a conversation about this.”

“A conversation about what?”

“Just leave it. I’ll talk to you at your mother’s house.”

“My mother’s house?”

After a moment he realized that Sean meant the Sunday brunch his mother was having for them not that weekend but the _following_ one. And it was only Friday night. And they had functions on all next week, including a lunch meeting with the wedding PR firm. Sean was essentially saying he didn’t want to see him again until he absolutely had to? No, not see, that he didn’t even want to _talk_ to him until then?

Then he recognized Sean’s tension. It felt like the start of the year. As though they were back in one of the bungalows in the gardens at the very hotel. This wasn’t anger, or a reach for control. 

It felt like Sean was giving up.

“Sean, you’re not going anywhere without me tonight,” he said hoarsely.

“Well, your friends held the car up for you and here you are, so you can believe that if you want, but it’s not gonna happen.”

“I said I’m riding home with you tonight.”

“I said no, Holden. What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What does _that_ mean?”

And now Sean finally faced him. His eyes were narrowed, constrained. “These men are all in your past, Holden? All these men you used to date?”

“Of course they are. You know they are. What’re you—”

“Then why the _fuck!_ ” Sean was suddenly yelling, “Why the _fuck_ do you still have their numbers in your _fucking phone!?_ ”

The night became completely still.

“ _Tell_ me, Holden!” Sean yelled, in his face. “Tell me what the _fuck_ I’m supposed to be _thinking!_ ”

He couldn’t breathe.

“I- I—” He stared at Sean’s enraged, reddened face. “I—”

Sean turned and gripped the car door handle, struggling to return himself to a manageable state. Then he slammed his palm against the door.

“Get me the fuck out of here!”

Petey appeared, Craig moving more slowly behind him.

And then Elliot was suddenly at his side. Blindly, in shock and outside of his body, he turned to Elliot.

“They’re still in there,” he said around his closed up throat, sounding as confused and as surprised as he felt. “I- I just— haven’t… gotten around—”

“You’re good, H,” Elliot said, getting a little in front of him, so that he could no longer see Sean directly in his line of sight. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We all have a billion pieces of junk sitting in our phones. No one is getting their head ripped off for it.”

The doors popped with the sound of bullets exploding. Without a word, Petey got in on his side as Sean yanked his own door open. Without a word in reply to Elliot, Sean disappeared inside. The car pulled off immediately.

He stared after the car. Then turning to Elliot, he stared still mostly blindly at him, then reached into his pocket for his phone to show him. “Look,” he said, still trying to make his voice work properly. “They’re just—”

Elliot put an arm around his waist. Then both arms went around him and pulled him into a hug.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Alastair Wilson looked more like his son on some days than on others. On the days when he did, it was because he was chatty and inquisitive. Happy. His blue eyes centered in conversation, so much like Holden’s that if he were being frank, it was what made him very comfortable and sometimes even look forward to spending time with Alastair.

On the days when Alastair’s openness was shut down, however, his mind calculating rather than interested in conversation, Alastair presented a version of Holden that made him feel ill to even contemplate. The version that could do so much damage. Still beautiful, still caring, still himself. But pushing him into quicksand, pushing a shard of pain deeper into his heart with each turn of his head.

He was lost.

But after ignoring Alastair’s calls and texts all weekend, he’d finally come.

It was Monday morning and he was with Alastair in Alastair’s sun room. The same room where Alastair had first shown him pictures of a vineyard in Santa Barbara they’d both silently but obviously hoped would become a part of their joined future. Notably, it was also the room where Cecelia had presented him with a prenuptial contract as a condition of marrying her son. Alastair was seated on the sofa, knees comfortably crossed, fingers laced, a presentation of willing patience.

They were waiting for Elliot.

He couldn’t fathom how exactly he came to be sitting there once again. When all of March and April had been spent tamping down this fire. Struggling through putting their parents on the same page because they had finally reached that right place. Even with everything that had recently happened, they had stayed in that right place. And when Alastair had called him up those two weeks ago, in spite of himself, he had been ready to accomplish what was a simple directive. 

But he had failed. So that here he was, once more summoned before a parent, confused and full of emotions he’d give anything to drop and never see again. It wasn’t even January, and it wasn’t even his own parent. Yet here he was, as if he’d never left this place. 

He was tired, he was lost, he was losing.

He had been taught by family that if you loved, you loved the good with the bad. But now that it was his turn, he realized that he’d never actually asked a simple question: How?

The door from the hallway opened and Elliot strolled in.

“Good morning, Alastair,” Elliot said, stopping by the door, his eyes on him and not the person he was greeting.

“Morning, Elliot,” Alastair replied, his tone as easy as his posture. 

Even though the fact that Alastair had said less than four words to him since he’d arrived emphasized that there was no ease to Alastair that morning.

“Thank you for taking the time from work.”

“Not a problem.”

Alastair now turned to him, smiling only with his lips. “Sean?”

He hadn’t been told what had been planned. But the fact that Elliot was remaining by the door, and Alastair wasn’t getting up, seemed to mean that he should go with Elliot.

He stood up, pushing down humiliation. Were it not that he had been down this road with Holden too many times to count, that he had no stomach to fight him anymore, he would have simply walked away.

But at least they were leaving Alastair’s presence. And he was about to have no problem whatsoever talking to this other guy.

—

“I guess you had a lot to tell Alastair. Hope you’re satisfied.”

“Why would I be?”

“That’s a good question. Either way, you need to know that I don’t fucking care what your agenda is.”

Elliot sighed. “I don’t _have_ an agenda, Sean. I just know the person I’ve loved and cared about since we were teenagers. And right now, sorry to say, you’re not deserving him.”

“Why? Because I don’t care to trash talk a person’s private life to their face?”

“Is that how you’re filing it away? Holden’s exes are being mean to you?”

“Why do you need to speak for Holden? Or keep dragging me in front of Alastair? How is any of this your fucking business?”

“I ask myself the same question every day.”

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass,” he said to the sarcasm Elliot hadn’t bothered masking.

“Me? No. I reject that assessment. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you don’t want me with your friend.”

“You don’t _know_ anything. And what pisses me off is that you’re not even trying to find out. Meanwhile I’m sitting here wondering how on earth a silly performance by some jealous nobodies turned into this.”

“Yeah, funny, I’ve been wondering the same thing for a couple weeks now. How a couple’s privacy turns into a reality show everybody gets to comment on. I guess this is some form of entertainment being gay in L.A. is all about. Something we backward farm boys can’t appreciate. Or is it low IQ NFL players. Hard to keep track.”

“I’m not the one you’re in love with, Sean. You’re wasting your anger on me.”

“You—”

“Just a second please,” Elliot said casually. “I was about to say something important and I don’t want to forget.” Elliot lowered his head, gazing at the black Oxfords he was wearing. Then Elliot looked directly at him.

“Have you ever seen Holden drunk?”

He stared stone-faced at Elliot.

“I don’t mean tipsy or a little woozy. I mean stone-cold, incoherent drunk.” 

Into the iron silence, Elliot simply continued. 

“ _I’d_ never seen it. Not through college or grad school. And while I’ve had my close call, I certainly never would have believed that emotional pain could do that to anyone, much less Holden.” 

Elliot paused, his eyes lowered, even turned away. “The role of a best friend is ever shitty. But here goes.”

He crossed his arms, resolved let him talk. He wanted to hear what he had to say. He really fucking did.

“I’ll be honest and say I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people as much in love as you two. Not just in love, committed to make it work. It would actually be inspirational if a person were into masochism. Yet as stressful as it is for the two of you, it’s equally stressful for everyone around you. Cecelia and Alastair aside, now I know how Juliet’s parents must have felt when Romeo came along.” Elliot took a deep breath and shook his head. “Sean, we haven’t been out to functions for three minutes and you’re falling apart. We haven’t even gotten to the really sinful parts, and you’re losing it. I’m not even gonna lie to you, in the three years you two were secretly seeing each other, I thought you were being real with each other. I thought that was the whole point. But I guess not. Turns out you’re like a couple of strangers. At least, when it comes to your shared reality. And I know you think I’m the villain here, but the truth is, I don’t think it’s okay that Holden hasn’t told you anything about himself.”

Despite himself, the words made his heart thud, skip beats. He suddenly didn’t want to hear anymore.

“What Holden did tell me was what happened on Ben Hanan’s boat. What happened between him and Alastair. What’s _been_ going on between them since last summer, over you. And on that subject, you have no idea how impossible that Alastair has changed because you, how far he’s come to understand that Holden is in love with you and what that means. You’ve never seen Alastair get vicious over his son. And Sean, you don’t want to. So for the sake of what you’ve somehow managed to achieve between them there, even for that sake only, get your shit together. Now, before you absolutely fuck that too.”

Elliot still had his head down, and it was now that he saw that there was a sadness around him. But when Elliot looked at him once more, there was none in his eyes for him.

“What Holden did can’t be undone. But I’m talking to you now. You need to stop acting like you don’t want to know. Of course you want to know. Why, at various times, your true love seemed to be sleeping with every man in L.A. except you. And sometimes even in addition to you. Anyone would want to know. It’s only natural. But for whatever reason, not you. Yet it’s eating you both up. So, if _you’re_ not the pain in the ass Holden insists you’re not, then grow a pair and ask Holden why he did what he did.”

“You mean about those _gaps?_ ”

Elliot sent him a slow, shaded look. Then slowly, Elliot stood up, stood there watching him.

“It’s ten weeks to your wedding, Sean. Nobody wants to hear some bullshit about a postponement. Besides the fact that it would mean Darren won, believe me Sean, Alastair and Cecelia would call game over for you.”

And finally Elliot stopped talking.

After few moments, realizing Elliot was finally through, he dropped his arms and simply turned and walked out of the room.

—

“I’ve explained it to everyone that matters!” he insisted, ranted really, at Elliot. “You, him, his sisters— !”

“But have you told anyone what actually happened?”

“What does that even mean!”

“It means, Holden, versus you just _giving_ us an explanation for why you kept seeing other guys when you knew you’d fallen in love with him. You told me it was because you were confused about how you felt. Because after Ian, and your dad, you didn’t understand how love actually worked. I get that. And I think he gets that as well. But you telling us is like making a self-diagnosis and giving yourself a clean bill of health without bothering to tell anyone that anything was wrong in the first place. You realize, right, that to your entire social circle, including your closest friends, it appears that you were having a supposedly monogamous relationship with a hugely famous, closeted NFL quarterback, while still sleeping with any guy you wanted, but you’re now publicly claiming otherwise. Of course it’s going to smell like a fucking challenge to those aggressive hounds you’ve always favored. All the way down to TMZ. While _I_ could claim such a thing and get away with it, I’m not from a famous family. And yes, it’s your prerogative to claim that, Holden. And if you were in a relationship with someone who didn’t care, none of this would matter. But obviously, it’s _bugging_ him.”

“He won’t hear it, Elliot. He won’t.”

“Yes he will. He’d acting tough, but Holden, _come on._ Have you seen his eyes. I’m all the way across the room from him and even I see what he wants. What he _needs._ So _tell him._ And do it before the things fucking _Darren_ is saying start making sense.”

—

Sean was long since gone. The sun was arching high into midday.

Elliot was also gone.

He’d encountered Elliot in an entertainment room, high and wide windows, lots of sun and an uplifting back garden view. It was where Elliot had talked to Sean. Where he and Elliot had also just talked. His father was somewhere in the house. But that wasn’t a direction he was even interested in going. He hadn’t witnessed the conversation with Sean but he could feel the one with him and Elliot still reverberating in his heart and chest. He’d been here awhile. First he’d called Craig to let him know he wouldn’t be returning to the office that morning. And perhaps to also have someone speak to him without much emotion, focusing only on what was crucial for that moment. True to form, Craig reminded him they had a conference call on JP Morgan which he should probably take from home if he wasn’t coming in. He’d thanked him, disconnected.

Some moments later, a clock somewhere in the room struck noon. Then the door opened and Alvarez personally entered the room, a small silver tray in hand. His father’s chef was in his whites, a long white napkin over his shoulder, steaming tamales and a couple bottles of Mexican beers laid on the tray.

“Need some company?”

“I’d love some.”

So Alvarez sat, setting down the tray and twisting the caps off the beers. Alvarez clinked bottlenecks with him and sat back. And without conversation, they ate.

*

All day, his mother called repeatedly. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t bare it, the way she always seemed to know when he was torn to shreds, when he wanted to have a mother he could hug close, make him hot chocolates and tell him it was all going to be okay, that the boy he loved would love him back no matter what he had done.

So he was quite startled late afternoon to have her show up at his penthouse door. Front desk hadn’t called, no indication that he was about to have a visitor. It didn’t exactly surprise him—he had no doubt that his parents had a knife to the throat of the company that owned his building—but because she hadn’t warned him, he peeked the peephole and answered as he’d been all day. Tired, depressed, in sweats. She, on the other hand, looked like a tall, glinting diamond brooch. She simply walked in.

He closed the door behind her and watched her visually sweeping his space. The wood floors of the foyer turning yellow under the skylights, spreading into the living room. Towards the kitchen, she slightly tilted her head, then looked up at the white-railed wooden staircase winding up to the second floor. At last, turning, she seemed to notice him. Smiling, she air kissed both his cheeks and then straightened.

“Darling, you look atrocious.”

Ignoring her, he returned to the living room where he’d been looking at old ESPN magazines. Pathetic, he knew. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. Sean was in those magazines, on the road. Maybe if he fantasized hard enough, he could hear himself calling him, leaving voicemail he knew he shouldn’t, but knew the sweet text it would get him.

His mother slowly began walking through his home. She went into the kitchen and there followed an extensive silence. And he did very much hope she was enjoying every evidence of Sean’s presence in his life. Maybe she really thought Sean was still just a passing fancy. She, unlike two out of three his friends, had to know permanence when she saw it, that nothing she was seeing in there matched his abilities. She came out and strode slowly toward the balcony, from which threshold she scoped the altered array of the furniture, and after that it was his study, then she returned and stood between the living room and the staircase, staring up as though quite sure she wasn’t interested in going up there. And then, at last, she seemed to have time for him, turning to him in the living room.

“Your father and I are so swamped with your wedding arrangements, I hate even talking about it. The Hansons are beside themselves helping me assure every last thing, and Soirée are miracle workers, but they aren’t infallible. No one is. Are you sure you don’t need me to intervene on a few things?” And at last she got to why she was actually there. “What’s Sean’s contribution to all of this?”

He’d been standing at his windows since putting away the magazines, staring out at the blue and yellow and white lights of LA, thinking of the countless times he’d stood there thinking he was so smart. That he was winning. That he knew what it was to be in control of men.

“Mother,” he said in response to her, without looking at her. “Sean’s contribution is that he loves your son despite every wrong thing you and your ex-husband taught him. His contribution, and I really do appreciate the word, is that as a gay man in a fucked up world, he believed in love even when it was being mocked by people like us.”

Closing his eyes, he let his emotions, the feelings he’d experienced with Sean and no one else, flood him. Not trying to protect any part of him. “That’s his contribution, mother. And perhaps, that’s what you came here to see for yourself.”

There was prolonged silence behind him, and when he turned and looked, his mother was at his wet bar, quietly pouring herself a drink. And it startled him, because she had drank herself into weeping stupors during his teenage years, but hadn’t done anything like that since, and it was surprising to see her even at a decanter pouring out a tumbler.

—

That evening, he sat with his new iPad mini against his knee, slowly swiping through his gallery of images. A messenger from Arthur Railings had delivered the iPad to him at work that afternoon. He had gone in to work, every day since Sean had spoken with Elliot. Work had always been his way to cope and now didn’t seem any different. After having locked Sean’s privacy with Arthur Railings after his parents’ investigation and the resulting Forbes article, the iPad was the new secured housing for his personal information. Including the images from Johnston. 

He was in his bedroom, where just a few weeks ago he’d experienced near bliss after returning from Johnston. Sean lying on his bed and simply watching him move about the room. Just then he was looking through the ones of which Anne had sent high resolution scans. Pictures of Sean as a teenager. Shy, fairer-haired than now, body growing by the minute, his secret softly in his eyes. He halted on the portrait that had taken his breath away that night on Wil’s back deck. The one with Sean’s longish hair, which grew in a little curly, turned wheat colored by a setting sun, tossed by a wind into his face. His eyes looking directly into the camera. As if looking straight at the man who would come into his life and asking him to be fair to him, to be honest and kind. Eyes showing a soft heart, waiting for a corresponding, trusting one.

Sean had hurt him so much that night of the Raven Fund dinner. Those unstated, loud and clear accusations, saying he’d lied to him. He loved him so much, had turned himself and his life inside out for him. Yet at all the crucial moments, he had never been able to make Sean believe in him. For God’s sake, why?

And yet, Sean hadn’t hurt him as much as he’d hurt himself, because for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d kept those numbers in his phone. It wasn’t as though he ever called a single one of them, or even replied to any of their texts. So why on earth had he kept them? What had he been looking for in those texts he’d let himself receive. Reading messages he should never have allowed into his life. Two months from getting married and his phone was filled with texts and unanswered calls from ex-boyfriends. Why? And if he didn’t understand it, then what was Sean supposed to think? How was Sean to believe it really was all in the past? The time between the Raven Fund dinner and that afternoon had been a long stretch of deleting every message he could find anywhere. Disabling messages in all his social media accounts. Deleting his Apple Mail address from his laptop. 

But instead of feeling like resolution, his actions had felt like acknowledgments of guilt.

He _didn’t_ want his parents’ marriage. Theirs or their friends’. Sean gave him love, and erotic mornings, and magic. And he was well past not believing.

And so he was going to get up and go meet him. Just as Sean had called and asked.

He’d said yes to Sean’s request for dinner without skipping a beat. He’d said yes and would deal with his fear and uncertainty afterwards. Well, now, several hours later, was afterward. He needed to get up and go get ready. And in spite of his all but paralysis, he would do it. And whatever Sean asked for, whatever Sean wanted him to do, he would say yes. And deal with the fear and uncertainty afterward.

*

“I _do_ wanna know. So badly, I can’t sleep. Is he just not ready for marriage?” But he really had to think about his role in this. Like Elliot had said. “There’re these… gaps in our relationship that I can’t make sense of no matter how much I try. What _the fuck_ he was thinking? Why I wasn’t enough for him? I know, I know. Believe me I know how entitled that sounds. But— how can you be in love with someone… and he was in love with me, I knew it for years even when he didn’t say it. But how can you feel that way… and then go sleep with so many other people?”

Dr. Markham adjusted his glasses. “Sean, going down this path can alter feelings. Some people would not be able to hear details about their partner’s ex-lovers and still feel the same way about them. Could you?”

He stared at the floor, at his hands hanging between his knees. “I don’t know. I can’t even face it in my own head. All I know is that I’ll always be in love with him. And that— I’m pretty sure we’re well past where we could ever separate. We break up and he comes at me— and I want him to. I want it so bad I can taste it. He’s _mine_ and I don’t care how he tears me apart.”

He held his head, massaged it. “But I don’t wanna go into the kind of marriage his folks have. I don’t want that. And I—” but there were still things he couldn’t voice. The thought that _he_ might couldn’t, but could Holden? “My circumstances with him is so strange. Who he is, his family, his social world, it doesn’t even seem probable that we could have connected enough to form a relationship.”

But they had. In spite of them having made every wrong move from minute one, they had. And it had been wild magic from the start.

“No,” he corrected. “I don’t wanna know. But the truth is that it’ll eat away at me until I do.” Closing his eyes, he let out a breath. And finally, he said what was in his heart. What had taken him this long to accept. “Don’t get me wrong, I know why he did it. I know he was struggling with his feelings and it was very hard for him. But now I… I want to understand how the fuck he could do it.”

And closing his eyes, he said the words.

“I want to understand _him._ ”

He opened his eyes, and for a long time, he was staring silently at his sneakers. Then he looked up at Markham.

“I’ll tell you this,” he said. “I didn’t need to be in that fucked up place, in the middle of what was truly a hell of assholes, to realize that knowing, and understanding, are two very different things.”

*


	4. Chapter 4

Yamashiro was beautiful that night. It was beautiful every night. It hadn’t been an LA nightlife hotspot in years, but he much preferred it this way, and he had no doubt Sean did as well. This way it felt small and intimate. Like it was theirs. Seated opposite each other, breathing comfortably was a hardship. It was their favorite restaurant because it had been the location of their first date. Automatically, the place made him feel special. Chased, wanted. And looking across at Sean and seeing their entire past in one sitting, it was unspeakably beautiful.

When Sean had suggested the restaurant, his heart had kicked with joy, sure it was a sign. Sure he’d find his old, sure self here. The self to which problems were never a challenge but merely unresolved items on an agenda. Plus, he’d be there now with the advantage of his new, committed self, and that somehow, it would all add up to feeling whole. He’d believed that sitting there, at Sean’s request no less, he would see their bright, happy future.

None of those things happened immediately.

But he was an optimist.

So he sat attentively, waiting while Sean put in their appetizers and meal and drinks orders and every other single thing. From the moment Sean had politely kissed his cheek and they’d sat down, Sean was being so thoughtful, so attentive himself, that he’d wanted to call his surrender since. He didn’t care if they were having sawdust for dinner. He just wanted to hear why Sean had finally called him after one week of cancelled itineraries and absolute silence.

On his left, the Japanese garden was lit up through the picture windows. To his right, the San Gabriel Mountains glowed in the darkness. They were sitting in the same positions they had that first night, and he wanted Sean to laugh and smile shyly like he had then. To look at him the way he had, like he was his beautiful stranger, the one who’d given him the courage only Craig mentioning it had made him realize he must have given Sean.

Not the way Sean was trying not to look at him now, as if at a true stranger he kept stealing looks at because he didn’t understand.

But they had always been two people who could hold a conversation between them. And by the time they were mid-meal, he’d told Sean all about his week at work, and that approaching the second week of May as they were, their trip to Spain was soon.

Sean nodded with closed off eyes, so shy and so sexy and so pretty and so dangerous, all rolled up in one, that he had to keep remembering to cool his heart. They hadn’t resolved anything yet.

“And what about Draft Day?” he asked, talking too much. “That’s coming up soon, right?”

Sean nearly smiled. “It’s not draft day with a capital D. That’d make it the title of a movie.”

“What’re you talking about,” he said, laughing helplessly, like an airhead. “How on earth can you tell I’m talking in _capital Ds._ ”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

He laughed some more, feeling lightheaded. “I call bullshit.”

A smiled pulled on the corner of Sean’s mouth.

And he stopped talking, because when Sean smiled it seemed that all their problems had been cancelled. A week ago, he’d been kissing that mouth and mustache, doing whatever he wanted to it.

“Also, it’s passed.”

He blinked, slowed by his thoughts. “What passed?”

“Draft day. It was start of April.”

He dropped his jaw in indignation. “I had plans,” he said, thinking of Kate Hazeltine. “What’d _you_ do? Shouldn’t I have seen that on Instagram or something?”

Sean shrugged. “It’s always Paula’s for me.”

And now Sean was looking at him with a soft, direct gaze for some reason.

His mind floated off with pleasure.

“You look very good,” he heard himself saying quietly. “I’m sure our server could switch out my plate of food for you and I wouldn’t notice. Actually, I would notice, because it would taste a hundred times better. Would you notice? If I were sitting there instead of your food?”

Sean’s smile pulled a little more.

“H-Harry Winston sent another one of those emails,” he said nervously. “Did you see it?” Sean nodded. “So I guess, unless I come in for a visit myself, I’m in for a big, stunning surprise at how astounding our rings are gonna be. How especially round and shiny, I presume.”

Now Sean laughed a little, giving him another shy look that made his toes curl in his shoes.

He smiled back, and told himself he had this covered.

And then, as if in a strange dream, his eyes were drawn some distance past Sean’s shoulder where in walked an ex-boyfriend of his.

One look at Aaron and on receiving a wink from him, he knew someone in the restaurant or at valet must have posted on social media that they were there. Otherwise the chances of running into any of his exes here were near zero.

Quickly lowering his eyes, he was in luck that Sean was looking at the table and not at him, and prayed that Sean would continue doing so. Because he had no ice what look was on his face. Stricken might be a good guess. 

Sean, however, taking a breath, took his sudden silence as being finally ready to get down to the hard stuff. He peeked again and saw Aaron, with a date, taking a table at a prime angle to have eyes on him all night. And again he did everything to keep his feelings off his face, feelings which were going from bad surprise to near heartbreak.

This was their space. His and Sean’s. This couldn’t possibly be the life he was stuck with in LA.

“Holden, listen,” Sean said quietly. “As I said over the phone, I’ve talked to Markham. We went over a lot of things.” Then Sean stopped talking and looked straight at him, his gaze so startling that for a second he feared Sean somehow knew that something was happening in the restaurant. But it was only that Sean was looking at him in a very open, direct way, like he had never seen before. Like Sean was staring at some part of him he was only now seeing. It was so disconcerting, he broke eye contact. 

But unable to hold that either, he met Sean’s eyes again and just waited.

“I don’t know our timeline, Holden,” Sean said.

“What’s— what’d you mean?”

“I mean what you were doing while you were _taking a break_ from us. Or while I was away on the road.”

He was unable to answer. He felt suddenly adrift in a frightening way. Had Sean just asked that? “It doesn’t matter what—”

“It matters to me. You wanted to know the truth. You said you don’t want me running anymore. And you’re right. We keep taking a step forward and another back, we get so happy together and then something, anything, shatters it. And it’s because we’re not dealing with this. Well, here I am. I’m tired of looking away from it, tired of the way it makes me feel. All this pain from nowhere when I think I have it under control.”

Sean’s gaze on him didn’t move an inch as he lowered his chopsticks to his plate, unable to hold on to anything.

“So I am gonna keep going out with you, Holden. But listen to me. I don’t want _anyone_ coming up to me and talking nonsense anymore, so you sort that out with your friends. What I am ready for is for you to tell me what I’m looking at when I see these men.”

“What am I supposed to be telling you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Who you are.”

He stared at Sean, hoping he was somehow misunderstanding. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

“We sat here four years ago and it was over for anyone else where we were concerned. Or it should have been. We both knew it. I didn’t care who or what you were. I didn’t care that you were going to break everything I’d spent my life since high school putting in place. I wanted it. And the same went for you. But it didn’t happen that way.”

Sean stopped talking, his arms locked around himself, his gaze holding on him.

“So now I want to know why you did what you did to me. Fill in those gaps of three years. I wanna hear your side of our story.”

His heart was going so hard it felt like it was burning in his throat. He blinked, trying to counter the feeling like he was on a boat. Like he was falling. Sean wanted to hear… everything?

Sean lowered his eyes to his food, giving him space to decide. Making him feel that his life with Sean had come cull circle.

And belatedly, he realized that this was the place, almost to the same point in their meal, where he’d fallen in love with Sean four years ago. 

He remembered the moment with sudden clarity, when Sean had caught his eyes and smiled so shyly after he had made a joke, and the world had swirled scarily before righting itself. Like he had lost his sense of balance. Sean had astutely seen the picture back then. He hadn’t been brought here by coincidence.

But his eyes remained on Sean. Everything? As in all of it?

Then he looked into the corner where Aaron was sitting for some reason, where Aaron was now smiling in his direction as though they were having a secret flirtation. And what he had accomplished in the last, entire, tumultuous year meant nothing whatsoever to any of them.

Aaron’s lips parted, and began to move.

_You… look… amazing…_

He lowered his eyes to his plate.

Sean was looking at him now.

“Sweetheart, I need your answer.”

He nodded. Again and again. He would tell him. He would tell him everything.

*

Elliot took a deep breath and released it. “Have you ever cried over him?”

He eyed Elliot. But he didn’t answer.

“Has he ever made you cry?” Elliot asked again.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t answer that the first time he had cried as an adult had been over Sean. And he certainly wasn’t about to share that the last two times it had since happened had been over his dad. 

“I’ve cried over a guy,” Elliot said softly.

“Rufai,” he said, remembering.

Elliot nodded. 

They were both quiet while he finished dressing.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Elliot finally said.

“The last thing I feel like doing right now is crying,” he said, tucking his shirt in. “Throwing up everything we just ate for dinner, sure.”

Finished, he slipped his belt into its loop and stood for a moment looking in the mirror.

“Just be yourself, H,” Elliot said, seeing his tension even better than he could describe. “Just remember that he’s worked hard enough to deserve you.”

“I think you mean vice versa.”

“I think I know what I mean.”

“Oh what, you approve of him now?”

“Uh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetheart.”

He looked at Elliot, sitting on a ledge next to his casual shirts, next to where he’d set his phone. It had been a pretty good impression of Sean’s voice. Elliot leaned back against the closet wall and smiled at him.

“Elliot, I have something to say. I mean, I seem to be spending these last few weeks apologizing to my friends, but it makes sense seeing what a mess I made of so many things.” He glanced at Elliot. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t have gotten this far. I just wanted to say that throughout all of this, you’ve been everything to me.”

Elliot’s smile widened. “Well, I learned from the best.”

Humbly, he returned Elliot’s smile. “You’ve definitely earned your title as Tyler’s main bitch.”

Elliot’s smile disappeared, replaced by a flare of nostrils and an eye roll.

“Give him what he wants, Elliot.”

“You mean a smack?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling uncontrollably at his best friend. “A hard, _Armenian_ smack. And there’d better be video.”

Elliot tried as much as he could not to, but ended up laughing. He was pretty sure Elliot liked those visuals.

Then, both of them quieting, he checked his belt, then pulled on his jacket. And slowly getting up, Elliot came over and slipped his arm around his waist, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

Then Elliot left his dressing room, leaving him alone with his refection.

And his phone buzzed. A text had come in, and when he went over and look at it, it was Craig, letting him know that they, Sean and him, had arrived at KV’s house party, and that he and Elliot were running late.

~*~

  


_Coming Soon: Holden faces what marriage actually means._


End file.
